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This was the life. Dean and his baby—and, his other baby, who he guessed wasn’t really a baby anymore, over there in the passenger seat—cruising down the road. Or, at least, it would be. See, Sam wasn’t exactly sat in the passenger seat; he was more slumped.
“Hey, c’mon, you gotta stay awake for me, Sam,” Dean said, hand shaking Sam’s shoulder. Worry seeped through his every word, every tremble of his fingers.
Sam groaned. “Dean. . .”
“I know, Sammy, I know. It’s gonna be okay. Just stay awake, can you do that?”
Sam just groaned again. Dean decided to take that as a yes.
“I know you can. Hey, you’re doin’ so good; just keep it up, alright?”
A faint nod, this time.
“Good, Sam. Good. We’ll be at the motel soon. You’re gonna be fine.”
Dean sped down the street, never taking his hand off Sam. He was his responsibility, damn it, and this was all his fault. If it weren’t for Dean dragging him back into the life, Sam would still be at Stanford. He’d probably be getting engaged to his beautiful and still alive girlfriend, or acing a test, or some other girly shit because leave it to Sam to be such a nerd about college instead of utilizing the prime opportunity to sleep around.
Dean had taken his eyes off of Sam for just a second, and the kid had gotten himself beat up and mildly concussed. It was tempting to blame Sam (for such a genius, he was pretty stupid), but he knew he should’ve been watching closer. Sam’s been out of the game for years. And as far as Dean’s concerned, he’s still his to take care of.
Never did Dean ever think he’d be so relieved that a drive in Baby was finally over. He jumped out and ran to her other side, opening Sam’s door for him and practically picking up his mammoth of a baby brother.
It was a full moon tonight, so there was plenty of light as they stumbled into their motel room. Dean let Sam lean pretty much his entire weight on him, all the while rambling nonsensical praises and reassurances that probably benefitted him more than they did Sam, as he wasn’t sure how cognizant his brother actually was right now.
Once inside, Dean gently deposited Sam onto the bed closest to the door. That’s the one he usually slept on, but whatever, Sam was heavy and this was easiest. He didn’t turn the lights on, as he knew how much of a bitch they could be when concussed.
Sam looked—in the nicest way possible—pathetic. Stupidly long hair in his face, puppy dog eyes boring into Dean’s soul, a few scratches here and there.
“Any injuries need immediate attention, Sammy?” Dean asked, standing over his brother at the side of the bed.
Sam thought for a moment, a somehow adorable expression on his face. It was like when a toddler is figuring out how something works for the first time. After a few seconds, he shook his head, but seemed to immediately regret it. “Ow,” he muttered.
Dean couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face. Thankfully, Sam was too out of it to call him on it. “Alright. I’ll, uh, let you sleep now, but I gotta wake you up in a bit to monitor your condition, or whatever. You remember concussion care, yeah? You understand that?”
Sam thankfully hummed a yes, meaning he wouldn’t be too much of a bitch when it came time to wake him up, eyes already fluttering closed.
Dean was about to take a seat on the other bed when Sam’s hand blindly reached out and found his. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’ go. . .”
“I’m not goin’ far, Sammy.”
Sam pouted as if he wasn’t 22 years old. “No!” he whined. “Don’ go, De.” He, with great effort, opened his eyes and gave Dean the puppy dog stare, this time on purpose.
“Uh. . .”
A surprising turn of events to say the least. The concussion must be worse than Dean thought.
Sam yanked Dean’s hand. “P’eas,” he whispered.
Dean thought that was supposed to be please, but his Sammy baby talk dictionary definitely needed dusting off, so he wasn’t sure. It was either that, or he was actually asking for peas.
Okay, it was definitely the first one.
“De,” Sam repeated, tugging him closer.
Dean blinked, shook his head. He realized he’d been standing there, just staring. “Uh, sure, Sammy. I’ll stay.”
He climbed over Sam and laid down next to him. It was only then that Sam closed his eyes again. He laboriously rolled over on his side to face Dean. And, honest to God, snuggled into him. Dean would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so worried.
“Jesus, Sammy,” he said under his breath, and Sam paid no mind, just went to sleep.
Dean knew he couldn’t fall asleep in order to take care of Sam, which was no problem. His mind kept him up, thinking. Nothing good ever came from Dean thinking.
He stared up at the ceiling, mind racing. It’d been like 8 years since they shared a bed when they didn’t have to, 12 years since they’d cuddled while doing it, 16 since Sam had called Dean De. Not that Dean was keeping track or anything.
Sam and Dean had both had their fair share of concussions, but they’d never made them act like this—whatever this was. Dean was just confused more than anything. It’s not like having Sam so close was uncomfortable, it was just weird. Really, really weird.
A supernatural thing, maybe? They hadn’t come into contact with a witch recently, but you never know.
A voice that definitely wasn’t Dean told him that maybe he should just enjoy this, because Sammy wouldn’t let this slide any other time.
Dean was officially embarrassed, but he didn’t shove his brother away.
•
A few hours later, Dean finally sat up. He woke Sam up with a gentle hand shaking his shoulder.
Sam, of course, groaned and moaned, but blearily blinked his eyes open. “De?”
Right, still on that. That’s fine, I guess.
“Yeah. You doin’ okay, kiddo?”
Sam shrugged half heartedly. “Head hurt.”
Dean hummed sympathetically. “Anythin’ spinnin’?”
Sam looked around. He shook his head.
“Okay, that’s good.” He held up two fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Sam just reached out and grabbed Dean’s hand straight out of the air and held on to it. Dean blinked, hard, and yep, Sam was still holding his hand.
“Sam?”
Sam slowly let go, frowning. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say he was on the verge of tears. “De mad?”
“What? N-no, I’m not mad, Sam.”
Sam’s frown deepened. “Why. . . call Sam then?”
“What do you mean?”
“Not Sammy.”
Oh.
Oh.
Something was severely, severely wrong with his brother. Dean didn’t really know what to do, but he figured he should go along with it. “Sorry, Sammy. I’m not mad at you.” His hand grabbed Sam’s again, without his permission. Looked like Dean’s brain was all wack-a-doo right now too.
Sam seemed to like it, though. “‘Kay,” he said, and Dean swore he sounded like a happy infant, and not even as an insult.
“Um. Do you want, uh. . . your other injuries? They hurt?”
“None big. I okay.”
“Okay. . . Wanna go back to sleep?”
Sam thought this over for a second. Eventually, he squeezed Dean’s hand. “Hafta sleep wiff me.” Sam sighed. “Get nightmares when you gone, De.”
Dean could almost pretend Sam decided to practice what he preached and be open about his feelings for once. It was just. . . the baby talk. What the fuck was going on here?
Dean would figure it out later. He laid back down next to his brother and secretly considered himself just a little lucky.
•
The next time Sam woke up, he did so on his own. His head hurt and—oh. My. God.
Please tell me that’s not Dean I’m curled up into. Please tell me it was all just a bad dream, and I’m sleeping next to Jess like normal.
No such luck. Sam slowly inched himself away from Dean’s chest and looked up. Dean was still awake. Fuck!
“Heya, Sammy,” he greeted.
Sam quickly crawled away and sat up. Bad idea, his head still hurt. He groaned, for multiple reasons, and put his head in his hands.
Dean was quick to sit up too. He placed a hand that was probably supposed to be comforting, but just felt incriminating and humiliating, on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam shrugged it off.
“Sammy, what’s wrong?”
“Oh my God, oh my God.”
“Sammy, what?”
Sammy. Sammy. Please stop calling me that.
Sam wrenched his head out of his hands, forced himself to look Dean in the eyes. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”
Dean just looked confused.
“Please can you just pretend I never. . . did any of the stuff I did earlier?”
Sam could’ve sworn Dean looked almost sad. “Sure. You back to. . . normal, now?”
Sam forced himself to nod.
“What was that anyway?”
“Call it a concussion thing?”
Dean agreed easily enough, for Sam’s sake most likely. Most likely he wanted to tease the absolute hell out of Sam. Most likely he wanted nothing to do with him anymore.
•
Dean couldn’t help it. They’d been cooped up in the motel room for a few days, and he was just curious, okay?
Sam was mostly recovered, and he hadn’t done the baby thing since that first night. In fact, he seemed rather embarrassed by it, avoiding talking about it at all costs. But Dean could just not stop thinking about it. So, he stole Sam’s laptop in the middle of the night and did some research.
It wasn’t long before he stumbled across some forums. Age regression. Huh. Interesting.
Dean scrolled and scrolled, and he learned a lot. He learned about caregivers and littles, the reasons why people age regress. He felt a little upset Sam had kept this from his. How long had he been doing this? Why didn’t he want Dean to know?
Dean would never make fun of his brother for something serious like this. People gotta cope, man, and Dean would’ve been there for him. Sam had to know that, right?
What he’d maybe never let Sam know was that he wanted to be there for him. That first night, Sam was so fucking adorable, and he’d let him do all the things he’s missed doing ever since they became no longer socially acceptable.
Sam didn’t have to know he wanted to. He just had to know he would. Dean didn’t know how to broach the topic, though.
He was still scrolling when Sam’s breathing became heavier, and he started rolling around. Nightmare.
Dean quickly shut the laptop and padded over to stand over Sam’s bed, calling his name. He woke up quickly, shooting upright, sweat drenched and panting and so baby brother like that Dean just wanted to hug him and tell him it’d all be alright.
Sam rubbed at his forehead with his hand. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Sure,” Dean responded. He didn’t wanna leave just yet, so he asked, “Jess?”
Sam looked up at him, looked away. “Yeah. Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“‘Kay.”
“You can go back to bed.” Sam looked over at Dean’s bed and could likely just make out his laptop resting on it in the dim light. “Or. . . watching porn, or whatever you were doing.”
“I wasn’t watching porn, Sam.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.
“Whatever,” Sam said with a yawn. He laid back down, facing away from Dean.
Dean tapped his fingers over his arm, debating whether or not now would be a good time to inquire about the age regression.
Sam sensed his presence, though, and interrupted his thoughts by rolling over. “What are you still doin’ here?”
Dean opened his mouth, closed it again.
Sam mimicked the motion, the bitch. “What?”
Fine. Just for that, Dean forced out, “Sam, do you age regress?”
Sam stilled. Dean could practically feel the dread radiating off of him, and he knew he fucked up.
“It’s okay if you do!” he quickly added, but it didn’t seem to help.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Dean recognized the this can’t be happening look on his face before Sam turned back around. His shoulders were shaking.
Dean was pretty sure he was pretending to be asleep now. Poor kid. He must be really bothered by this if he wasn’t able to come up with a better strategy.
“Sam, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. . . I’m sorry. But I really mean it. It’s okay.” He tried to make his voice soft, reassuring. He hoped he hadn’t lost his touch after all this time apart, but Sam didn’t respond, so it wasn’t looking good. Dean rested one of his knees on the bed. “C’mon, Sammy.”
And, oh no, was Sam crying? Dean fully sat down on the bed, all Sam’s rolling luckily leaving enough room on the edge of the bed.
“Oh, please don’t cry. Just talk to me. Please,” Dean said. “It’s okay, man.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Of course I am.”
“You’re not actually okay with this.”
“Sam, yes I am, I swear to you. Come on, I wouldn’t joke around about this.”
Sam seemed to actually be considering this. It somehow hadn’t occurred to Dean that maybe he wanted this as much as he did. He probably wanted this more, actually. Maybe not from Dean, but he was all he had right now.
Sam slowly rolled onto his back and looked up at Dean. “Promise?”
“I promise,” Dean confirmed.
Sam looked down, thought some more. “Would you. . .” Sam licked his lips. “I mean, it’s not like you’d be willing to. . . you know?”
Despite Sam having not said anything that meant anything, Dean did know. He also knew just how wrong Sam was. “I would, Sam. Anytime, honest.”
Sam made eye contact again. “But isn’t it weird?”
Dean shook his head.
Not to me. Not if it’s you.
“Okay,” Sam finally agreed. “So you’d be okay with it if I, you know. Started regressing around you?”
“Yeah. That’d be okay.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool.” Sam tacked on, “Thanks,” a beat later.
Dean had never adored his kid brother so much. “No big deal.”